Sunday, November 27, 2011

Chapter 7



“You’ve never been to a game?” She looks down at the tickets being held out towards her and then at the man seated in the booth offering them and the incredulous expression on his face. 

“Well, y’know, I’m not exactly made out of money,” she grins, her hand shaking as it reaches out towards the tickets. 

“There’s always student rush,” Pascal Dupuis reminds her. She nods as he presses the tickets into her hand and folds his bigger hands over hers. 

“First thing, I’m not a student and also they always do that when I’m on shift,” she adds keeping her voice low and aiming a meaningful glance towards the waitresses behind the counter, “and god forbid that I miss a shift but if I did those vultures wouldn’t waste a minute taking the rest of my shifts from now until doomsday.” She holds the tickets in her hand and runs her fingers over them like she’s caressing a delicate piece of china. “So...won’t he mind?” 

“Probably,” he shrugs, “if I told him. These are from me. Well, me and Flower,” he adds with a quick smile at his quiet teammate across the table who is wearing an amused smile. “Look, I think you’re pretty clear we don’t agree with the way that Sid’s trying to buy you off to get rid of you. We just want you to know that even if he’s not sure what he wants, we consider you family.” 

“I don’t know what to say. I mean, thank you, obviously,” she smiles into his kind eyes, “but uh...I don’t want anyone to get into trouble or, y’know get on his bad side,” she offers sincerely. 

“You leave the worrying about Darryl to me,” he smiles confidently. The younger man besides him smirks and makes a less than supportive snorting noise. 

“What will you do? Spank him if he’s bad again?” Kristopher Letang chuckles as he pushes his long, thick dark hair back and out of his equally dark eyes which seems like a fruitless gesture as it only falls back into his face again.

“It’s possible,” Pascal grins and all of the men at the table laugh. She looks at each of them, ruefully, in turn and a vast emptiness settles into her chest. She longs to be closer to them, to be in on their jokes, to have them consider her one of the gang, not to be the object of their pity. They seem so nice, so unlike him.

“So you’ll come?” Marc asks, looking angelically innocent even though she is sure by the way Kris suddenly jumps that he is kicking the defenseman under the table. 

“It’s the first home game of the season, you can scalp them if you want,” Kris recommends with an elfin grin that quickly turns into a grimace and the entire table bounces. Biting on her lip to stop from laughing out loud and drawing even more attention to their table she nods. 

“I won’t sell them and if you’re sure that it won’t land you in his bad books then I promise I’ll go,” she says, slipping the tickets into the front pocket of her apron that does little to hide the growing bump beneath, snug and safe along with her tips.

“He’ll be up in the box he won’t even know you’re there,” Pascal promises with a smile that fades at the edges as she chews on her bottom lip, “unless you want me to tell him?” 

“No,” she replies decisively. “So, ready to order?” 

________________________________________________________________


“Stop treating me like I’m one of your kids Dupers,” he hisses through clenched teeth. He doesn’t want nor does he need reminding of exactly how many times he’s promised to see her, to speak with her, to give her the cheque he’s been carrying around in his jacket pocket. It’s become dog eared and frayed at the edges and he doesn’t know how long before it is stale dated and no good to her at all. 

“So stop acting like one of my kids and I’ll consider it,” Pascal replied without looking up from lacing up his skates. This discussion is the last thing he wants today. It’s bad enough he isn’t going to be out on the ice, where he most wants to be, the last thing he wants right now is to be made to feel worse than he already does.

“I don’t know how you can act like it’s not happening,” Pascal adds, switching feet and tying up the other skate. 

“Look she’s the one choosing to keep it, not me. I have nothing to do with it,” he says firmly, which is easy enough to do considering it’s what he’s been telling himself, over and over. 

“It?” He knows even before he sees Pascal’s big eyes roll up to meet his that he’s said the wrong thing but he can’t and won’t take it back. “It’s not a dog or a cat it’s a kid Crosby and I think it’s damn brave of her to choose to keep the baby when she knows it’s half jackass like you.” The jibe hurts but he does his best not to let it show. Dupuis has been one of his best friends and confidantes on the team, has had his back on more occasions than he cares to count, on and off the ice, so to have Pascal look at him like he’s a gigantic disappointment is like having a knife inserted right between his ribs, aiming straight for his heart. “I think the least you could do is show her a little support.” 

“Her choice,” he reiterates with a shrug and starts to turn away only to have a second set of eyes meet his, full of disapproval. “Fuck...don’t you think I deserved to be in on the fucking decision here? Does anyone here get that it’s not fucking fair that she just got to make that fucking decision and I got no fucking say in the matter?” The room goes silent and most of the guys around him appear to be very focused on taping their sticks or tying their skates as if they haven’t heard any of the conversation. He grinds his teeth together and is about to turn on his heel and leave Duper and his ‘father knows best’ face when Lloyd and Harry step up to the plate. 

“It’s his life too,” Jordy says, laying his hand on Sid’s shoulder in that bros before ho’s solidarity sort of way. “If he doesn’t want kids he shouldn’t have to have them.” 

“Yeah,” TK agrees before Sid can object to the wholesale support that doesn’t quite fit, that goes a step farther than he himself would go. “If he told her to get rid of it you’d all be up in arms about that too,” the dark haired pugnacious forward adds defiantly. Sidney swallows audibly. If Dupers knew he’d said exactly that....

“It is her body, it should be her choice.” Every pair of eyes turns to the quiet man in the corner sitting there with his pads and hockey pants on and nothing else, his frame as fragile as a sparrow. He could object but the look in MAF’s eyes suggests strongly that it is better not to. 

“I don’t know why you picked her for the contest either,” Tanger taps his stick against Sidney’s shiny dress shoes as he passes, “she’s foxy in a nerdy kind of way.” 

He is on him before he has full though through how futile his actions will be. Not only is Letang far better versed in the art of fighting but he is also in full gear with the protections of his pads and the added height of his skates. This is not a fight Sidney can win but he has already thrown the first punch and cannot take it back now. 

He feels his head snapping back when Tanger’s fist contacts his own jaw squarely and he remembers how many times he’s watched the gritty defenseman pummel an opponent and felt pity for the man on the receiving end of the punch that makes his ears ring and has him seeing stars. He is grateful when Jordy and Dupers jump in and drag his long haired teammate off of him. 

“You should think about this,” Pascal hisses as they both watch Tanger being forcibly dragged from the spot, while Sidney rubs at his jaw and tests it by opening and closing his mouth, listening for clicks and tasting for blood. “If you detest that girl so much why are you so fucking upset?” He doesn’t have an answer for that question. He’s asked himself the same thing and come up with no answer more than once himself. “Yeah, well, think on it, d’accord mon ami?” Pascal shakes his head at him and then musses his hair just like he would to one of his own kids and Sid finds himself nodding and smiling up at him, just as if he were. 

_______________________________________________________________


A jersey would hide it but a jersey is far out of the price range of a diner waitress she decides as she tucks the price tag back into the neck of the black and gold material and turns away, heading back to the rows of t-shirts and sweatshirts. She runs her hand over what looks like a warm hoodie with the Pens logo on the back and ‘Property of’ on the front. Her smile is wistful. It doesn’t seem so long ago that she had longed to be property of the Captain of the team, the man whose number seems to be on every other jersey that walks by her. 

Picking up a plain black t-shirt with a small Pens logo embroidered in gold she unfolds it to find Marc’s number on the back. She feels a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she holds it up to the light. The price tag swings from the arm and it catches her eye; fifty per cent off, a price that she can afford.

Pulling a twenty from her wallet, she gets in line behind two other young women, both already wearing jerseys, both jerseys with the number eighty-seven emblazoned across their backs. They are talking animatedly and excitedly. It isn’t her intention to listen in on their conversation but their voices seem to carry over the energized crowd around them and it is hard to shut them out. 

“I’m sure he’ll call,” the red head assures her blonde friend, who tosses her long, straight hair over her shoulder and sighs dramatically. 

“Oh I know he will,” the blonde agrees, her phone in hand, tilted so that anyone can read the number on the screen. The number itself could be anything but the name over it can only be one person. “He said I was the best he ever had,” she adds, tossing her long mane over her other shoulder, “and he put the number in my phone himself,” she continues with a smile that clearly suggests she believes every word that she is saying, but more importantly, that she wants to be sure that everyone hears her.

Fern looks down at the simple t-shirt draped over her arm. The shine has gone out of the stitching. The butterflies that had been fluttering in her stomach since she’d got to the arena settle all at once and become a heavy weight in her stomach instead. 

“Here, this will probably fit you.” She presses the t-shirt into the hands of the stunned red head in front of her. “I have to pee.” 

She strides out of the store and shoves her way across the concourse, muttering apologies as she ducks beneath the arm of one man only to walk directly into the path of another. She barely manages to avoid having beer spilled on her and tosses another apology over her shoulder to a middle aged woman whose popcorn she upends as she dashes towards the bathroom. 

She hears the curses behind her when she ignores the line and heads to a stall as the door begins to open. The woman coming out narrows her eyes at her but says nothing as Fern tugs the door out of her hand and brushes past her. She pulls the door shut and locks it before anyone else says anything to her. 

Leaning against the door she wipes angrily at the tears that are already spilling down her cheeks. She wants not to care. She tells herself that she doesn’t, that it doesn’t matter if he sleeps with half the city but even as she does she knows that she is lying to herself and one hand slides protectively over the swelling that seems to be getting bigger every day; the reminder that no matter how hard she tries to deny it she is still holding out hope that he is not really the asshole that he seems to be, that somehow, some way he is the knight in shining armour that she always thought he was. 

“Hey, are you gonna use the shitter or what?” 

“Yeah, yeah I am,” she calls back and reaches for the tissue paper ring to cover the toilet. Lifting her plain black t-shirt up she looks down at the material panel in her maternity jeans and makes a face but just as she is about to pull it down she feels that  still new tumbling, bubbly sensation and puts both hands over her stomach, and smiles.

______________________________________________________________

“There you are. Sorry I’m late, but you were right, I am not gonna make a good nurse.”

Fern slides her jacket from the seat beside her to make room for the diminutive brunette who promptly drops into it, slides her book bag under it and then proceeds to shimmy out of her jacket, revealing a Letang jersey beneath. 

“Chemistry?” Fern asks, handing her friend the drink she’s been keeping for her. 

“Fuck yeah,” she sighs, pursing her lips around the straw and taking a long sip before sitting back in the seat and aiming her grey green eyes at Fern. “But enough about me. Nice seats girlfriend.” 

“Right?” Fern brightens visibly and aims a grin towards the empty ice. She reminds herself silently to give Pascal and Marc each a great big hug the next time she sees them. The seats are half a dozen rows up from the bench and a little to the right so that they are just above the glass with an unobstructed view of the ice. They are very good seats indeed. 

“So is he around?” her friend asks in a hushed tone, peering at the people in the seats around them through narrowed eyes.  

“Sam,” Fern gives her friend a playful shove and then shakes her head. “No, I haven’t seen him and they said they weren’t gonna tell him,” she adds. Samantha shrugs her shoulders, sits back and stares up at the boxes.

“He’s probably up there, watching you right now. I hope he comes down here. I am so gonna kick his fucking ass.” Samantha’s threat of violence and obvious loyalty earns her a warm smile from Fern but she shakes her head. 

“I think we’d miss the game if you did that,” she warns and Samantha’s full lips peel back to reveal a perfect row of white teeth. 

“Yeah but it’d be fuckin’ fun while it lasted.” Sam’s menacing grin fades at the edges and she tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing once again as she shrewdly searches her friend’s face. “You’ve been crying.”

“No,” Fern turns to face the ice again and slides down into her seat. 

“You have. Ferny,” Sam’s hand reaches for her own and Fern does not withdraw it. “What’s up? Did you see him or something?” 

“No,” she answers quietly, an ironic half smile tugging at one corner of her lip. “Just another girl who slept with him,” she adds quietly, her other hand automatically sliding over her stomach. “She was blonde and so fucking pretty,” she sighs closing her eyes and letting her shoulders droop. 

“Well fuck her, I hope he was even worse for her than he was for you,” Sam snickers, giving her friends’ hand a squeeze. Before Fern can thank her for her steadfastness or even tell her that she doesn’t mind if he was amazing in bed for someone else, one of the equipment managers appears behind the bench and tosses a bucketful of pucks out onto the ice. 

A mix of enthusiastic whistles and gleeful squeals fills the arena as the players hit the ice and the crowd stands all at once, Fern and Samantha with them. Sam is still holding her hand when the players in their black and gold begin to race by, the sound of their skate blades cutting into the ice clear as a bell from their seats. The heaviness that had settled into her stomach lifts and the butterflies begin to rise, flapping their wings as if they’ve been lifted on a warm afternoon breeze. 

Fleury looks up as he lumbers by, weighed down by his pads and lifts his stick in salute and then does a not so graceful pirouette. Sam lets out long shrill wolf whistle that makes Fern giggle. Pascal taps the glass and waves and Fern lifts her hand to cover her heart. He smiles and then digs his blades into the ice and speeds across it. 

“These are fucking great seats,” Sam reiterates and Fern can’t quite form the words but nods, tears in her eyes.

______________________________________________________________

He is not surprised that Mario and the rest of the brass have found the silver lining in his not being in the line up tonight and he is doing his best to smile and shake all of the right hands, laugh at the appropriate jokes and pretend to be slightly offended at the off colour ones. He plays his part perfectly out of years of practice. He is the penultimate ambassador for the game he loves and he only begrudges his position once the game starts.

He is grateful for the large screen TV’s that dot the walls around the executive suite but he agrees without reservation with anyone who asks him if it is hard to merely be a spectator. It is, very much so. But watching still makes him feel more a part of the team than listening to product pitches and schmoozing suits. 

He sips slowly at the wine he’s been offered. If he’d had a choice he’d have more than a couple of beers by now but as it is he is earning one too many sideways glances. His reputation for avoiding all excesses precedes him and makes it difficult sometimes to be in company with people who don’t know the real Sid. He slides the wine glass onto the table and picks up a bottle of chilled water instead. 

As he twists the plastic cap from the bottle a roar goes up in the arena and every head turns to either look up at one of the big screens or out at the ice itself. He is too far from the best view and so turns to look at the television. He has missed the initial play and even the players’ celebration. The camera is now panning the crowd and stops on a pair of young women jumping and clapping. That sight, in and of itself is not at all strange. The Penguins, more so than most teams in the league, has a young and predominantly female fan base. It is one of the young women in particular that catches his eye.

He curses under his breath and while the rest of the box is still transfixed by the goal celebration he slips out the door and heads into the bowels of the arena.

10 comments:

  1. don't leave us hanging for too long!! :D

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  2. I love how the guys are taking care of her and being so nice to her! Loved it, can't wait for more!

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  3. Beautiful, engaging set up... can sense the indignation in this moment and can only imagine what is going to be said in the next chapter.
    Not lying...gonna be so hard to wait!

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  4. i am loving this. there seems to be a lot of pregnancy stories about sidney, because we all know its hard not to have a story without a pregnancy, but i love the twist you've put on this one :)

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  5. Ahh!! I'm ready for this showdown! I'm curious as to how it will turn out, because you always keep me on my toes with spins that I'm not anticipating.

    Anxiously waiting 8! Don't make us wait too long! ;)

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  6. Awesome update, big confrontation up next?
    Hope you get another chapter up soon!
    This was great :)

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  7. Ooo I'm glad Fern is getting support and encouragement from majority of Syd's teammates even though he's acting like an ahole. I wonder how this confrontation is going to go. Can't wait to see what happens next.

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  8. oh no he didn't!
    oh god! he's gonna cause so much drama when he walks down in the crowds.
    love love loved the update!

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  9. chapter 8 would definitely make my day....just saying! lol. i love this story, im hooked!

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